5 Sensory Responses
by Little Miss GG
Summary: 5 words, 5 drabbles, 5 windows into the life of House and Wilson


_**SIGHT**_

House's fingers. Wilson knew he was in trouble the minute he set foot in the office and House was playing air piano. Every time he had to fight to drag his eyes away from ten long digits, nimble and artful and totally capable of reducing the youngest Head of Oncology in the history of PPTH to a nonsensical mass of nerves and drool. House smacked the tip of one finger against the desk at an awkward angle, swore, and immediately started sucking the injured finger.

Oh god.

"Hey where are you going?" House leant over in his chair watching the retreating figure of Wilson.

"Later. I'll come back later."

_**SMELL**_

Wilson wears a certain brand of cologne that House hasn't been bothered to find the name of. It's a strange scent, one that isn't overpowering or obvious but the mixture of that scent and Wilson and fabric softener and shampoo all combine to make a smell that is nearly as delicious as those pancakes. House finds the smell most clearly at the nape of Wilson's neck, and for no reason other than to be annoying one Tuesday in clinic House decided to smell Wilson in the middle of the nurses station. Wilson turned wide-eyed and stared at House with an expression half way between shock and amusement. They both went their separate ways, treating equally pointless patients and meeting again ten minutes later in the middle of waiting room. House leant over and sniffed Wilson again. Wilson turned quickly this time, leaning over sweetly and whispering into House's ear.

"Do it again and I'll call you 'Gregory' all day."

House smiled and placed an obvious and lecherous hand on Wilson's ass. He squeezed. "Fine by me sweetcheeks."

_**TOUCH**_

The first time House had realised he was in love with Wilson was three nights after they started sleeping together. Dr James Wilson had cold feet. Always. Freezing cold toes that he would push against the backs of House's calves so that they'd warm up. They never seemed to warm up, only succeed in making House cold as well. House complained about this, vocally, at all manner of inappropriate moments. What House wouldn't say was just how much he loved those cold toes. They would wake him up when Wilson got in late, they would remind him in the middle of the night just who was laying next to him and every time those cold toes were pressed against his legs - it was something so secret and intimate it made House grin. He knew, the first time that Wilson did it and he smiled instead of complaining, that he was in love.

_**TASTE**_

House starts lazily swiping his tongue over random parts of Wilson's flesh, just below his navel, then round it, then up in a few haphazard diagonal lines. He enjoys the feel of Wilson's fingers tangling in his hair, gripping harder when he hits the right spot. He pays attention to a group of freckles just under Wilson's third rib, then his nipples, then higher. A wet line along his collar bone, getting more accurate with the tip of his tongue now, higher, a little to the left, just there.

He's not sure if the taste is that much sweeter because when he hits the spot Wilson arches and cries out and nearly rips his hair from his scalp but House knows that this is his favourite part of Wilson's anatomy. His skin tastes of sweat and cotton and cologne and something he can't name but recognises - mine.

_**SOUND**_

When Wilson takes his tie off there's a subtle whoosh of silk against cotton that makes House's insides shiver. He should be able to give it a more grown up and medical terminology - but there isn't any other way to describe the way his breath hitches and his stomach curls. He knows, once he's heard that sound, that the shirt will follow, then the slacks, then the socks and by that time Wilson will be sitting on the bed. If it's cold the boxers will stay on and he'll slip under the covers and if it's hot he'll lay naked on top of the blankets, letting his skin cool down.

Tonight they came to bed together, House stripping off quickly and slipping under the covers half-hard and eager. Wilson, knowing he's being watched, drags out his strip. He unbuttons the shirt first, lingering on the last few before unknotting the tie and slowly, oh so slowly, pulling the tie from his collar. The sound fills House's head with brilliantly debauched images, his favourite among them running the same length of silk over and over Wilson's cock as he's tied down. House swallows hard and clenches his jaw, laying back and enjoying the show.

Afterwards, when Wilson is untied and laying drowsily against House's chest, he smiles.

"I think you ruined my tie."

"I'll buy you a new one."


End file.
